


Diamonds on the Soles of His Feet

by Phoenix1966



Category: Actor RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Jared, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Fanworks Auction, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Jensen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Language, M/M, Military, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Top Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8525092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix1966/pseuds/Phoenix1966
Summary: A business trip for Jensen, who is still haunted by ghosts of his past, changes his life in more ways than one.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HermineKurotowa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermineKurotowa/gifts).



> This is for the infinitely generous and patient HermineKurotowa, who bid on me for a [fanworks auction](http://fanworksauction.livejournal.com/2354.html) on LiveJournal benefiting Nyxocity. She wanted a wealthy Jensen with scars on his feet and didn't use elevators. I hope you like it and thank you for contributing!
> 
> Like the tags say, this is a one shot and I have no plans to revisit this version of the boys.
> 
> This is rated M for Mature subject material. There is no explicit, sexual content, however.
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies that this was all for fun and no profit was made and no copyright infringement intended.
> 
> I do not give permission for anyone to share, repost or archive my works anywhere. If this continues, I will delete all my work and no longer post.

Grit scratched his corneas, as Jensen scrubbed at his face, making each blink painful and tearing. Nearby voices were muted, dull and removed. He tried to swallow past the stale stickiness tinged with copper that lingered in his mouth. He’d tasted pennies before, when he was little and egged on by a big sister who had alternately loved and tormented him in equal measure. Funny enough, the taste _was_ a lot like blood. Jensen would soon enough discover that specific flavor with the help of friends who suddenly hated everything about him once he had figured out what and, more divisively, _who_ made him happy. He hadn’t lost his family over it, although it had been a near thing.

The acrid stench of sweat, tangy and nose hair-curling, dragged him from his not-so-pleasant trip down memory lane. The voices cleared slowly, like a scratchy song on a radio station sharpening the closer the car got to the signal. But the clearer they grew, the more confused Jensen became. Why weren’t there more screams? Moisture ran down what was left of his legs. It might have been urine, but was probably only blood. Knives stabbed the soles of his feet again and again and all he could think was that he was ridiculously grateful he hadn’t pissed his pants; a dignity amongst the undignified. Whatever it was, most likely an IED, had blown up underneath their LAV-25 and Jensen didn’t know how he was still alive if, in fact, he actually was. The jury was still out on that one.

He _knew_ that fucking, dead dog wasn’t right and had been about to tell Kane that in no uncertain terms until there wasn’t anything to tell. No warning, no dog, no sight and for a few, blessed moments, no sound. Why hadn’t Plow gotten them the hell out of there? Why wasn’t anyone crying? Why wasn’t anyone screaming? Why wasn’t he? Jensen strained to hear something, trying to make sense out of the words floating past his ears.

Did he still have ears?

“Not gonna wait all day,” the voice asked. “Are you getting in or not?” There was patience in the question, but not much and that made no sense at all. Jensen didn't want in. He wanted out. God, wouldn’t someone get him the hell out of there?

“Hold the elevator!” someone else shouted.

Elevator.

Jensen was standing halfway in an elevator, one foot in and one out.

Jensen was not bleeding out in Iraq with two thirds of his patrol blown to kingdom come. He was standing in a hotel lobby in D.C., getting on an elevator.

He barely acknowledged the young man that jostled past him, nothing more than a blur in a suit, too caught up in smelling his own fear. He probably wouldn’t have noticed him at all if the other guy hadn’t been taller than him. At over six feet in height, Jensen was used to being the tallest person in a room. But the man (boy?) had him beat by a good, few inches. As Jensen wiped nervously at the back of his neck, grimacing at the damp, clammy skin (clearly the source of the stench), he raised his eyes briefly.

Tall guy, who had been all loose-limbed as he had loped by, grew rigid as soon as he stepped inside the metal box. Jensen was rather mesmerized by the metamorphosis. Despite his disorientation, Jensen was certain the guy couldn’t be more than in his early twenties at best. Maybe a college kid visiting a family member at the hotel until Jensen saw his eyes. Lost under a swirl of dark, brown locks, whatever color they were iced over once he was standing in the midst of the handful of people crowded inside. He stood as ramrod straight as any member of the armed forces at attention. Jensen prided himself on being able to read people, but he got nothing from the young man. It was like staring at a blank page.

So caught up in the puzzle that had suddenly appeared before him. Jensen momentarily forgot his own fear. The guy was dressed nicer than your average college student – suit and tie, instead of jeans and a t-shirt – and Jensen went back to his original suspicion that he must have been meeting up with a visiting relative for some sort of special occasion. He was probably twenty or twenty-one at most. A young professional with the whole world in front of him, someone who had never known ugliness a day in his life. One of the lucky ones. One of the nameless people Jensen had fought to protect, in a roundabout way, when he had been active in the military. He was simultaneously pleased and envious of the other man.

This kid would never face an irrational fear of elevators or any other mundane thing in life thanks to men and women like Jensen. He’d probably never thank anyone for it, either. But Jensen hadn’t joined for thanks. He’d joined for duty and honor, as antiquated as it sounded. But it was the truth. He knew his country had faults and flaws. The presidential race that had just ended had exposed that more clearly than anything else had in years. It was a country that could make mistakes and would again in the future. It was a place where people from all walks of life were hurt and angry and not hearing each other. But it was also a country that had more freedoms than many he had seen firsthand and that was worth protecting. That was worth remembering.

“Last call,” the first man repeated, staring pointedly at Jensen. Piss or get off the pot.

He reluctantly shifted his gaze away from the younger man to face the first. “I think I’ll walk,” he croaked. While his mind may have come back from the dark place it sometimes tripped into, his voice had not. He staggered back two steps.

The other shrugged and the doors slid shut. The college kid hadn’t looked at Jensen once, apparently lost in his own world. Seemed fair. Jensen had been lost in his, after all.

He sighed and slipped a finger under the Windsor knot strangling him. Jensen made an executive decision and did an about-face back to the hotel bar. If he was going to walk up ten flights of stairs to get to his room, he was going to do it with some liquid fortification first.

*****

“Which way do you think they’re going to swing?” Kane asked, over lunch the next day.

Jensen grabbed a napkin and blotted at his lips. Around a mouthful of flash-seared teriyaki tenderloin, he mumbled, “I think it’s between us and JDM.”

Kane nodded thoughtfully. “Jeff’s team has put together an impressive package. But I think the numbers still prove we’re the more efficient armor plating choice.”

“Agreed, but money’s going to play a big part in the final call. We’re worth it,” he replied, “but we ain’t cheap.” And they weren’t, but fairly priced for a revolutionary, lightweight armor plating that could substantially increase vehicle protection against weapons like IEDs.

“Damn straight, son,” Kane snorted and reached across the table to cuff him in the shoulder. It was only the inflexibility bumping against Jensen’s bicep that gave away the artificial nature of Kane’s hand.

Both he and Sgt. Christian Kane were the only two to walk away from their patrol. One other survived, but he never walked again and a year after landing Stateside, he wasn't anything anymore. He swallowed a bullet to silence the noise in his head and the pain in the legs that were no longer there. The other six in their team were scattered pieces across a bleak countryside. Jensen still heard them scream in his dreams some nights. Other times, it was only his voice he heard, waking in his own stink, drenched in sweat.

Kane flipped his head, his straight, dark, chin-length hair whipping everywhere and Jensen smirked when he batted at his eyes. “If you didn’t have hippy hair,” he teased, “that wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Not all of us want to look like we’re still in the Corps, Sgt. Major,” he shot back, blue eyes sharp and un-melting.

Sniper eyes, Jensen reminded himself as he ran his hands through his military-cut, dark blond locks. Before he had a chance to say anything else, a jovial, warm voice intruded.

“Room for one more, fellas?”

They both looked up to see Jeffrey Dean Morgan, head of Morgan Defense, standing beside their table. About ten years older than Kane and a dozen more than Jensen, the man had a smattering of gray in his beard and mustache, while everything else was still mostly dark. Handsome, with a George Clooney suaveness, Morgan’s company was the chief competitor to their KanesenTech Core. Chris and he had gone back and forth for months over a name, but they kept landing on “Kackles” and couldn’t stop laughing over it until they’d settled on the final version. They still used the other name on internal emails between the two of them, however.

“Absolutely,” Jensen replied, waving a hand to one of the two empty seats at their table. Kane frowned, but nodded as well.

“Thanks,” Morgan offered as he took a seat. Dimples carving prominent parenthesis in his face, he picked up the leather-bound menus and asked, “So what’s good, boys?”

“The organic roast chicken ain’t bad,” Kane chimed in.

“And the seasonal risotto is pretty decent,” Jensen added, stabbing another hunk of beef with his fork.

“Sounds good to me,” he conceded jovially, closing his menu without sparing it a glance. When the waiter hovered nearby, Jensen waved him over.

Morgan placed his order, with the addition of a scotch and soda and another round for Jensen and Chris before he dismissed him.

One elbow on the table, he brushed through his beard thoughtfully. “I’m not going to beat around the bush, boys,” he began without preamble. “I think this Department of Defense contract is down to just the two of us.” He took in both Jensen and Chris with his pronouncement. He knew they were a team and addressed them as such.

“You boys are sharp,” he continued, but there was no hint of patronizing in his use of the word “boys” despite the way Jensen caught Chris bristling at it, “what with your chemical and mechanical engineering between the both of you. And you might,” he said haltingly, “have us beat in results.” He leaned over the table and added softly, “but we both know the government cronies are fucking cheapskates in the end.” And he leaned back and smiled a satisfied grin.

“Well,” Chris huffed, tapping his artificial hand restlessly on the table, “maybe they’ll value lives more this time.”

“Maybe, son, maybe,” Morgan appeared to concede, retreating back in his chair and lacing his fingers together. “Either way,” he admitted, stretching his long arms out in front of him and inverting his linked hands, “it’s all good.”

The waiter returned with Morgan’s scotch and soda, Kane’s microbrew and Jensen’s bourbon. Each of them took a sip of their respective poison. Jensen winced appreciatively at the heat that trailed down his throat with his. “You seem pretty expansive this afternoon, Jeff,” Jensen said without a trace of malice. He respected Morgan’s work and knew that it was reciprocated.

Morgan smirked, hazel eyes twinkling. “I have to admit,” he confessed eagerly, “that after the night I had, it would take a lot to rile me up.”

“That good?” Kane wondered, lips quirking upward.

“Boys, I swear I saw heaven last night,” he admitted, sipping scotch slowly.

“What was her name,” Jensen asked, “or was it a he?” There were secrets between their companies, but not many about the men themselves.

“He,” Morgan drawled, loose and easy, and Jensen and Chris exchanged a telling look.

While serving in the second Iraq War, the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy had been in full force. But there were precious few secrets in the military, especially among tight groups like Jensen’s. They’d known all about his preferences and respected his leadership. It had never been a problem and Jensen had felt an immeasurable amount of pride for his men, because not every soldier was as lucky. Chris knew he was gay just like he knew Kane was as straight as they come. And they both knew it didn’t matter one bit to the other. It was just another reason why their friendship had expanded itself to a successful business partnership after their service ended; they had each other’s back without question.

“Someone new?” Jensen asked, tossing his napkin down on his mostly empty plate.

“Someone temporary,” Morgan corrected him. He paused as the waiter brought him his meal, before continuing, “A fine, upstanding lad recommended to me by a certain member of the hotel staff. And let me tell you,” he drawled, all Cheshire Cat pleased, “that boy kept me up and standing all night long. Not often I get to have someone taller than me, but I have to say that boy was fine. Took every inch and rode me like a champ until dawn’s early light.”

Jensen cleared his throat, uncomfortable with Morgan’s bragging. It had been a long time since Jensen had had a significant other. For one, he was too invested in his work, barely taking a vacation for himself, despite Kane’s nagging insistence. For another, he’d lost more than one person’s interest once they’d gotten a good look at his lower legs and feet, despite the fact that they were fully functional. Appearances mattered to more than would care to admit to it. He’d gotten used to a somewhat solitary existence and when it got really bad, he was not above cruising for paid companionship now and again. He was safe, took precautions and let himself believe during those brief encounters that the acceptance he received was for him and not the money he was paying. He was okay with the illusion.  

“Sounds like you already had your dessert then,” Kane prodded none too bluntly.

Morgan had made a dent in his meal by then (the portions were fashionably tiny) and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Messaged received loud and clear.” He reached for his wallet, despite Jensen’s protests. Plucking out several bills, he placed them on the table. “On me. I insist,” he added genially. He rose and the others mirrored his actions.

“Good luck tomorrow, gentlemen,” he said, holding out his hand.

“The same to you,” Jensen offered as sincerely. Two firm handshakes later and he was gone.

Sitting back down, Jensen sighed. “You didn’t have to chase him off, Kane.”

Chris snorted. “Well, I didn’t have to listen to him, either. Seriously, I get that he’s a decent enough business man, but, at the end of the day, he doesn’t have a dog in this fight like we do, Jen.” The rare slip of his name, shortened like it was, was a clear sign that Chris was tired. And when he got tired, he got emotional. “Besides,” he joked a little too forcibly, “I did not want to hear how he gave it good to a rentboy.”

“You’re just testy because you miss Lisa,” Jensen teased with a smirk.

“We get this contract and I’m going to be missing her a whole lot more,” he stated soberly. “We’re going to have to set up at least an office here to monitor everything and liaise with the DoD on practically a daily basis.”

“I am well aware. And I already warned you about counting your chickens before they’ve come home to roost,” he quipped.

“You’re mixing your metaphors or something there,” Kane interrupted with a scrunched brow.

Jensen sat back and sighed. “We’ve already gone over this. You and that too-good-for-you wife of yours have roots established back in Austin. Hell, you’ve probably got a preschool in mind for that little bun in her oven.” Jensen held up his hand to stop Chris. “If anyone’s going to relocate, it’s me.”

“You’ve got family, too, man,” Chris pointed out.

“They’re in Dallas and as often as I actually see them, they probably won’t even know I’ve moved. Obviously, I’ll have to fly back and forth, but it’s just logical for me to be the one. Plus, I don’t look like a damn hippie,” he smiled, aiming for a measure of levity.

“True, you are easier for them to take,” Chris grumbled, again tapping his hand on the table to make his point. “Unlike me, there’s nothing to make them feel uncomfortable when they look at you.”

Jensen resisted the urge to scratch at his shin, even though he was certain the scar tissue was tightening up as he sat there.

“I’m sorry, Sgt. Major,” Kane offered contritely. “I didn’t mean to go down that road. Keep it up and I’ll be cryin’ in my beer next,” he huffed disgustedly.

“And what a sorry sight that is, Sgt. Kane. I should know, having had to carry your sorry ass home more than once,” Jensen answered, willing to take the change of topic for the olive branch that it was.

Kane shuffled Morgan’s money, adding more for the tip, into the folder their waiter had discreetly brought over. It was graceless movements like that when Jensen couldn’t help but see the artificial nature of Kane’s hand. He was probably right that Jensen was easier for the DoD to deal with, clean-cut with no outward signs of things gone wrong. Standing, he winced as the extensive scarring on his feet screamed bloody murder. They were going to need a lot of attention after the day he had, not to mention the stairs he was still going to have to climb, because there was no way he was going to be able to manage the elevator now.

“Wanna hang out and watch some movies?” Chris offered as stood beside Jensen.

“Nah,” he refused easily. “Go on and Skype with Lisa. Give her my love and tell her to take it easy.” Chris’ wife had a full caseload, mostly representing servicemen and women, and she hadn’t let her pregnancy slow her down yet in court.

“We could go over –”

 “Nothing left to hash out, Chris, just ‘hurry up and wait’,” Jensen grinned at the often used, but still true, military saying.

“Same shit, different day,” he agreed. “Want me to ride up with you?” And Chris always had the decency to offer, but never push.

“I’m good,” Jensen replied like usual. He wasn’t, but he carried on. When they got to the bank of hotel elevators, he hung back slightly. Chris jerked his chin sharply at Jensen. “See you tomorrow at oh nine hundred hours.”

“Dismissed, Sgt.,” he shot back and pretended to check messages on his phone while Chris disappeared in one to head up to his room. Jensen lingered for a few minutes, trying to build himself up for another try, while waiting for the area to empty. If he was going to make a fool of himself again, he wanted as few witnesses as possible.

With only a small hitch in his step, which he blamed on his old wounds, he stretched his hand out and pressed the button. His gaze darted nervously from one elevator to the other, trying to see which would reach the lobby first. When he thought he had a winner, he moved over to stand in front of it, steeling himself. The sweat had already started to pool at the base of his neck and he shifted from one foot to the other. He probably looked like someone doing the “potty dance”, but he didn’t care. He told himself he could do it this time; he _would_ do it this time. But the longer the car took to arrive, the worse his nerves got. By the time the telltale ding chimed the elevator’s arrival, Jensen was barely there, instead lost to sand and blood and death. The doors slid open smoothly and he was shocked out of his nightmare reverie to once again find himself faced with the young man from the evening before and he was oddly the only thing Jensen’s tunnel vision was able to focus on.

Unlike last night, the guy was wearing clothes with a decidedly hipster flair instead of the regimented uniform of his business suit, topped off with a scarf looped jauntily around his neck. As Jensen forced himself to swallow around the bile collecting in his throat, he took in the other man’s face and it was like the last time, but in reverse. Slowly, the man’s wildly-colored eyes thawed and warmed, going from icy sea foam to golden hazel. His sharp features softened and the corners of his lips fought against the pull of gravity. His breaths grew deeper and his stance relaxed. It was like watching someone unfreeze and come to life, a flower poking through spring-crusted snow. Jensen was again so preoccupied with him that he didn’t realize the awkward way he was blocking him from exiting the car.

“Um, excuse me,” came his soft voice, with the hint of a twang buried deep.

Jensen simply stared at him dumbly, jumping slightly when the doors began to close and the other man slapped his hand out to trigger them to reopen. “Oh,” he gasped. “Sorry,” he mumbled, stumbling back to get out of the young man’s way and was startled when long, slender fingers wrapped around his bicep and kept him from falling. Whoever the guy was, there were muscles in that deceptively lean build. Jensen often reacted badly if someone touched him when he was stressed, but, surprisingly, he didn’t feel trapped or threatened by the grip. He merely felt steadied.

“Are you all right?” the stranger asked, not releasing his hold on Jensen.

“I’m good,” he finally croaked.

The other man scrunched up his brow in a way that produced an absurdly odd configuration of wrinkles. Clearly, he didn’t believe Jensen.

“I-I think I’m gonna take the stairs,” he said with a touch more force, hoping that would convince the guy.

“Can I give you a hand?”

 _I’ve got two perfectly good ones_ , he thought manically. _How about a foot? I would kill to have one that didn’t bring tears to my eyes every goddam day._

“No thanks, but I appreciate it,” Jensen replied. “Really,” he tacked on when the other man rolled his lower lip into his mouth. He had a nice line of straight, white teeth, but the gesture made him appear even younger to Jensen, standing there uncertainly. The vulnerability tugged at his heart.

He reluctantly nodded and Jensen beat a relatively hasty retreat to the stairs. He hoped he disguised his limp (his calf muscles had seized up on him while he had been freaking out again), but as he glanced over his shoulder while opening the doors to the stairs, he saw the younger man still standing where he could watch Jensen, wearing the same, concerned expression he had by the elevator. When the door shut behind him and he was safe from those following eyes, Jensen breathed easier. He’d been exposed before the other man, but instead of feeling anger or embarrassment, he’d only sensed concern and care, which he hadn’t gotten from a stranger in a long, long time. And it made him oddly warm inside. Jensen shook his head briskly, desperate to rattle those thoughts out of his head since they served no purpose, and exhaled noisily as he looked up and up at the stairs piled before him like Everest. He had a long way to go.

*****

“Congratulations,” Morgan conceded graciously, shaking first Jensen’s hand and then Chris’. “The best team won.”

“Thanks, Morgan,” Jensen said, one of the last ones to step out of the conference room. It hadn’t sunk in yet that their company had been awarded the contract – the very, very, lucrative contract. Their lives were about to be dramatically reshaped again by the military. And wasn’t that a kick in the ass?

While Chris and Morgan exchanged polite commiserations, Jensen was lost in thought. He was barely cognizant of the military officials that filed out of the room, nodding absently to the pleasantries they murmured as they left. He was too busy coming to the realization that they had actually done it. Chris and Lisa and their unborn baby were set now. The folks they employed would not only receive the bonuses they had hoped to award them, but he and Chris could afford to give them all substantial raises as well as expanding the overall company. They'd done it.

“Hope you two treat yourself to a well-deserved party,” Morgan said, breaking away from Chris.

“Jensen and I should raise a little Cain,” Chris admitted. “But I did promise the missus that my hell-raising days –”

“Were over?” Morgan interrupted with a smirk.

“Nah, man. I promised that my hell-raising days were all hers.” Before she got pregnant, Lisa consistently drank them both under the table. The woman knew how to hold her liquor and cheat at poker.

“What about you?” Morgan sidled up beside him. “Going to loosen that tie and let yourself breathe?”

“I don’t know, man,” Jensen chuckled easily, but the idea didn’t sound completely unattractive. Different city, different him? Some companionship might not be amiss.

“If you decide a night on the town is too much and want to keep it low-key and just unwind, consider giving Angela – the evening concierge – a call. She was the one who set me up with my previous evening’s entertainment and I’m sure she could take care of you nicely.” And then Morgan gave them a two-fingered salute before trailing off after the others, probably hoping to sell them on something else.

Jensen and Chris were rather subdued as they turned in their temporary badges and exited the building. It had and hadn’t sunk in yet how much everything was about to change, but they sensed it like the way the hairs on the back of the neck tingled right before a summer thunderstorm.

When they got back to the hotel, there was a strange tension between them, like a muscle stretched too tight; it wasn’t painful yet, but it was uncomfortably undeniable. “You want to come up and join me?” Chris offered. “Break the news to Lisa and watch her lose her shit on Skype?”

“No,” Jensen laughed, clapping Chris on the shoulder and appreciating the break in the strained atmosphere. “That’s your right as husband and father-to-be. You go on and enjoy those overloaded hormones.”

“Jerk,” Chris muttered under his breath. “Hey, Jensen? Maybe Morgan is right. Maybe you should blow off some steam. God knows you deserve it.”

Jensen stood silently for a brief moment. Chris knew that Jensen sometimes indulged in paid companionship and while he didn’t disapprove of the practice, he was always hoping Jensen would pursue something that didn’t have an expiration date. That he was offering his support was surprising, but thoughtful. This was Chris’ way of saying he wouldn’t give him shit about it in the morning.

He knocked his shoulder against Chris’. “I’ll think about it. Now go give that brilliant wife of yours the good word.” And he smiled at his teammate, because that was who Chris was. While some things were going to change between them, he knew that never would, no matter how many miles might come between them.

Chris started to say something but caught himself before he did. The shorter man tossed a wink at Jensen and went over to the elevators. Neither of them even pretended that Jensen was going to try that again. The day had been stressful enough as it was.

By the time Jensen had reached his floor, his feet were ready to mutiny and he again cursed the fact that the hotel was overbooked and hadn’t had a room on a lower floor available. He was certain they would have made concessions if they had known about his legs, but he never admitted to having any physical challenges. Like an arthritic man, Jensen hobbled painfully into his room and carefully lowered himself into the armchair by the windows. He struggled to remove his shoes and gingerly massaged the thick layer of scar tissue that made up the soles of his feet. Working the tissue brought relief and broke up some of the adhesions, but it really was “same shit, different day”. The pain was never going to go completely away. He tried to force himself to relax. Jensen was both exhausted and strangely wired after the day’s events. He eyed the hotel phone for several minutes before picking up the receiver and dialing.

“Concierge services, this is Angela speaking. How may I help you?” The woman’s voice was low and pleasing.

“Hello, Angela. This is Mr. Ackles,” Jensen responded.

After a pause of a few seconds, when she was undoubtedly bringing up his information, she continued, “Yes, Mr. Ackles in room 1141. What can I do for you this evening, sir?”

“An acquaintance of mine staying here, Mr. Morgan, spoke very highly regrading certain guest services you were able to arrange for him. I was hoping you might be able to do the same for me since I’m in need of something similar,” he answered without nervousness. It wasn't his first rodeo and he made sure that nothing he said could incriminate either of them.

There was only the hint of hesitation before she replied, “I can certainly arrange something for you. Were you hoping for an identical experience as your acquaintance or the opposite?”

A diplomatic way of asking if he wanted a man or a woman.

“I was hoping for something along the same lines as my acquaintance, if that’s possible,” he said smoothly. “I’ve had a stressful day and would like nothing more than to have someone help me unwind.”

“Of course, Mr. Ackles. I am going to recommend a young gentleman well versed in yoga and other forms of _relaxation_. If that meets with your approval, would you like me to send him along?”

“That would be fine. How about in an hour?” Jensen asked, which would give him enough time to shower and change.

“Very good, sir. I’ll have Jared sent along shortly. Feel free to tip him accordingly. And please let me know if he doesn't meet your needs and I will do my best to make sure you’re satisfied,” Angela finished before disconnecting the call.

Jensen hung up and clapped his hands together. Time to clean up for his massage.

*****

Exactly an hour later, there was a light but definite rap on his door. Jensen, who had changed into dark, sleep pants and a heather-gray Henley, gave himself a last, appraising look in the bathroom mirror as he dragged his fingers through his product-free hair before calling out, “Yes?”

“It’s Jared,” came the slightly muffled reply. Jensen peeked through the peephole, but only saw the back of a dark head. Jared was the right name, so Jensen swung the heavy-duty security clasp aside and unlocked the door. The other man was looking over his shoulder, down the lengthy hall, so Jensen had an unguarded moment to take him in.

He was tall, with dark, brown hair that curled slightly at the ends. Dressed in black yoga pants and a matching jacket, he had two, lime-green mats rolled and tucked under his left arm. As he took in Jared’s lanky height and build, he had a sinking sensation he was going to recognize the man’s face when he finally turned around. And Jensen wasn’t wrong.

Confronted by those enigmatic eyes, which played hide-and-seek under wayward bangs, Jensen couldn’t deny this man was the one he had run into twice before at the elevators. He stood his ground, waiting for realization to strike Jared as well. And it did, but, like the screams in Jensen’s nightmares, it was muted. There was no depth to Jared’s expression. His recognition only seemed to sink into the outer layer of his face and no farther. It didn’t touch him.

And it dawned on Jensen – that strange chrysalis he had seen form and later melt away from Jared as he entered and exited the elevator was the armor he needed to survive his work.

“Can I come in?” Jared asked quietly.

Like at the elevators, Jensen was clumsy around him. He stepped to the side and waved him in.

Jared moved smoothly past him and walked over to the table by the large windows, where Jensen had set out two empty glasses and a bottle of wine. He placed his mats under the table and turned slowly around. “How would you like me, Mr. Ackles?” he asked bluntly.

And Jensen, who was no stranger to the current situation, was unaccountably flustered. He had never known his companions and had never employed the same person more than once. But he knew Jared, a little, and he was decidedly off balance.

“Would you like to have a drink with me?” he countered.

It was obvious Jared was taking in the scenario he had staged as he studied the table and open bottle of wine with twin glasses before he smiled politely and took a seat. “I’d love to,” Jared agreed amiably.

Telling himself to get it together, Jensen closed the distance between them, only stumbling one time, before he was beside the table. Picking up the bottle of savory Rhône red, he carefully poured a smattering for Jared to taste and the younger man obliged, smiling and making all the expected, appreciative mutterings. Jensen poured Jared and then himself a glass, before setting the bottle back down and joining Jared at the table. His legs thanked him for it. He wasn’t sure if he had completely hidden the wince.

“Would you like to talk for a while, Mr. Ackles?” Jared cordially suggested.

“Yes, and please call me Jensen,” he answered, swirling the wine in his glass and inhaling. The smoky and spicy aroma was soothing.

Taking his cue from Jensen, Jared did the same. Then he sat his glass down carefully and unzipped his black jacket to reveal a periwinkle tank underneath that brought out the blue in eyes that Jensen still wasn’t sure how to categorize. They exchanged pleasant, meaningless banter over the course of two glasses of wine and watched the city lights wink on as dusk blanketed the landscape. By the second glass, Jared had removed his jacket completely, to reveal strong but not muscle-bound arms. They were proportionate to the rest of what Jensen saw and he wondered if what he couldn’t see was as well. He watched as Jared chased a drop of wine with the tip of his tongue, leaving his pink lips glossy and flushed. As polite and accommodating as the younger man was, Jensen never saw any real emotion directed at him like Jared had done in the lobby, only small, hairline fractures in his armor; Jensen wanted more. And then he had a twinge of guilt trip up his spine. He was thrown by having seen Jared before and he was having a great deal of difficulty maintaining the illusions he preferred in these kinds of scenarios.

“I-I think,” he cleared his throat, “that this has been a mistake, Jared.” He finished stronger than he had started.

To his credit, the other man didn’t seem too affected. He twisted around in his seat to grab his jacket and began to rise. Jensen rushed to stand as well, but wasn’t as fortunate. He fumbled against the table, knocking over his mostly empty wine glass and hissed as white-hot pokers seared his feet. Jared, jacket forgotten, stepped close and caught him by his arms.

“Are you all right?” he asked, sounding so much more like he had downstairs.

Jensen tried to literally brush him off, but was in too much discomfort to do much of anything.

“Here,” Jared coaxed him, helping him maneuver towards the end of his king-sized bed. As Jensen sank gratefully down on the edge, Jared continued to drop to his knees until he was on the floor before him. “Did you hurt yourself?” Jared looked up at Jensen, sincere in his concern.

“You could say that,” Jensen huffed, wincing as he flexed one sock-covered foot. “It’s an old ache,” he dismissed. “I’m used to it.”

“Would you like me to take a look? I might be able to alleviate some of the pain,” Jared offered.

Jensen quirked a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

Jared let out a disgruntled breath, causing his bangs to flutter up and fall back down. “I actually am a licensed massage therapist, although I don’t get to use those skills too often.”

“People prefer your other talents?” Jensen joked through gritted teeth.

“Something like that,” Jared replied with less warmth and Jensen felt badly for dampening the tentative connection they had started to forge.

“I’m sor-” Jensen began, but Jared cut him off.

“Don’t apologize. I have no illusions about myself or my work.” And didn’t that hit close to home? Jared sighed. “Angie’s going to charge you for a massage session regardless of whether you tip me or not, so you might as well get your money’s worth.” He shifted on his knees, hands resting on his thighs while he regarded Jensen with the expression he wore at the door.

Jensen chewed on his lower lip for a moment. None of this was playing out like he had planned and he hated being off balance, mentally as well as physically. “All right,” he conceded. “But it’s not pretty,” Jensen warned, gesturing to his legs.

“Few things in this life are,” Jared whispered, almost under his breath. He got to his feet and went back to where he had stashed his mats. Unfurling one revealed a collection of bottles that Jensen suspected might be oils and lube.

When he returned, Jared said, “Would you like help with taking your pants off or do you just want me to roll them up? Taking them off would probably be more comfortable and not cut off any circulation.”

Jensen didn’t trust himself. “Roll ‘em up,” he instructed Jared.

With a great deal of care, Jared tugged up first one pant leg and then the other, revealing the ruin that was Jensen’s lower legs. While his injuries had robbed him of about twenty percent of his muscle mass and strength in his calves, he had mostly learned to compensate for that loss. What Jensen continued to struggle with was the intermittent pain that nothing relieved and the visual horror of the twisted and slightly misshapen flesh that remained – a crisscross of white and pink scars cobbling together lumpy flesh. He told himself daily to stay grateful that he still had all his limbs, but there were times when he was deep in the throes of unrelenting misery that he sometimes wished they had been obliterated.

Jensen stared at Jared keenly and that was the only reason he caught the subtle tremble in the younger man’s large hands. In a rather removed fashion, he observed Jared ball them up into fists, before he relaxed them again. Reaching for what Jensen assumed was massage oil, Jared casually asked, “Do you have trouble with adhesions a lot?”

“Yeah, all the time,” Jensen replied. “I try to work the tissue, especially on the soles of my feet, daily, but I…uh…” he trailed off as Jared skimmed his hands surely against the back of his calves. The touch was very welcome.

“Let me know if anything becomes too painful,” he reminded Jensen, expertly kneading into the ruined muscles under his palms. Jensen hummed in agreement. The initial contact was always uncomfortable, but as Jared worked the muscles and tissues, that discomfort bled away into warm relief. He found himself sinking back onto his elbows, barely propping himself upright the longer Jared worked on him.

“Lie back if it’s more comfortable,” Jared murmured as he continued to massage Jensen’s legs, inching himself closer and closer to the soles of his feet.

“M’okay like this,” he groaned softly, unwilling to completely let go.

“Sorry if it’s out of line, but I don’t think you should be walking the stairs as much as I’ve seen you do. I don’t know if you think it’s a fitness thing or whatever, but you should either request a room closer to the lobby or use the elevator.” He glanced up earnestly and Jensen tensed. Jared must have felt the shift and ducked his head back down, focusing on Jensen’s misshapen ankles.

“It’s not a fitness kick, believe me,” Jensen eventually confessed when the air had gotten thick with silent unease. He pushed up into a sitting position and rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. If he’d been playing poker, Kane would have known to go all in at that point. Damn tells.

He debated about dropping it, lying or simply telling Jared the truth. He opted for the last one. “I can’t ride in them,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Jared didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he continued to work Jensen’s ankles one after the other with sure strokes. “Claustrophobia?” he asked casually and without apparent judgement.

Jensen nodded. When he realized that Jared didn’t see him, he coughed and said, “Something like that.”

Jared bobbed his shaggy head and continued to circle his thumbs around Jensen’s ankle bones. As he slowly stroked across the arches of Jensen’s feet, Jensen added quietly, “I don’t think it’s really claustrophobia. I’m okay in small rooms. But put me in one of those metal boxes and have it start moving and I lose it completely.”

The quiet was pointed. Suddenly wanting to fill it, Jensen continued, “It’s tied to how I got these,” he said, flexing his toes as he spoke.

“They look really painful,” Jared replied. He tilted one of Jensen’s feet up and swallowed visibly. Jensen was entranced by the way the younger man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “How do you even walk on these feet?” he rasped.

“One step at a time,” Jensen answered brokenly. And he found himself suddenly describing that dark day to Jared. He didn’t use extraneous language, merely laid out the facts in a detached manor, which was the only way to get the story out. By the end of the retelling, Jensen had collapsed back on his bent arms, staring blindly at the ceiling. The stucco swirls above him did not hold the secrets to the universe. And yet, he was lighter for the words he had shed. He might have sunk all the way back into the welcoming softness of the mattress if not for the odd, almost scalding patter of moisture on his feet. He sat back up, trying to figure out what Jared had sprinkled on his skin that practically burned. What he saw stole his breath away.

Jared was still hunched over, face hidden behind waves of dark locks, rubbing against the bottoms of his feet. However, scattered about on the tops of them, were tiny drops that sparkled like diamonds in the dim glow from the bedside lamp. Evening had plunged the room into soft, purple light that muted everything else except that. Jared was crying; shedding tears over a man he didn’t know. Jensen’s lips parted in amazement. He reached down and cupped Jared’s face with his left hand, rubbing his calloused thumb along the fragile skin underneath his haunting eyes, suddenly more blue than anything else.

With only the slightest bit of pressure, Jensen nudged Jared’s face upwards. “Why?” he rasped. “Why do you care?”

Jared tried to turn away but the gentle, insistent pressure Jensen exuded kept him in place. “You,” Jared sniffed, “you suffered this for us. You suffer this for me and you don’t even know me.”

Jensen’s mouth quirked upwards on one side. “You don’t know me, either.” He smiled fully when Jared pressed his face into his palm and then kissed him there.

“I wish I would have had the chance to,” Jared exhaled and he surged up to press his lips against Jensen’s. And, for a moment, he gave in to the warm press of flesh before reluctantly pulling away.

“I could say the same thing,” Jensen replied, lips tingling with a strange current.

Jared, on his knees, edged closer between Jensen’s spread legs. He was close enough for Jensen to smell sweat, cologne and musk. His eyes fluttered shut briefly and he reveled in the intimacy. When he opened his eyes, he clasped Jared’s face between his hands.

Smiling sadly, he asked, “Why do you do this when you could have so much more?” And something flickered in Jared’s eyes, before he grew distant.

“Everyone has a sad story, Jensen. Mine’s no different from the next person’s except that it’s my story.”

“I’d really like to hear it,” Jensen told him sincerely.

Disbelief skittered across the younger man’s expressive face before he settled for a resigned and sad smile. “Maybe if you weren’t just passing through, I might share it with you sometime.” He slipped his arms around Jensen’s neck and tried to pull him closer. “Don’t you want me?”

Jensen leaned forward, pressing into Jared’s sturdy chest with his own broad one. “More than I expected,” he answered honestly. He dipped his head down and stole a kiss, wet and slick with promise. “I would enjoy having you underneath me, to be inside you. But I actually want that with _you_ , whoever you really are.” And he stared at Jared, hoping the other man understood the meaning behind his words. “And that’s something new. I haven’t wanted to be close to anyone in longer than I care to admit,” he replied, voice low and serious. He wrapped his arms around Jared’s trim waist and held fast.

Jared tucked his head in against Jensen’s neck, breath hot and moist against the skin there. Jensen trembled. The intimacy of the gesture should have been stifling, but Jensen found it comfortable. With reluctance, Jared eventually pulled back from their embrace.

“I guess if there’s nothing else I can do for you, Mr. Ackles,” he sniffed, armor clearly sliding back up into place, “then I should be going.”

Jared stood on shaky legs and began to collect his props. While he zipped his jacket up, Jensen rolled his pantlegs back down and stepped into the slippers he wore to protect and cushion his feet. He couldn’t deny that his legs did feel better, but he missed the absence of Jared’s body heat in his immediate vicinity and that was a surprisingly visceral loss.

Jared tucked his mats under his arm, and he almost appeared the same as when he had arrived except for his eyes. He slowly held out his free hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” The words sounded rote in Jensen’s ears and he found himself missing what he never really had. “If you’re ever in the city again and need…” he faltered then, and Jensen saw the critical failure splintering before him. “Well, anyway,” Jared caught himself, “good luck to you, sir. Safe travels home.”

Jensen clasped the other man’s hand, shaking it and clinging a bit tighter than necessary. “Thank you for a memorable evening,” he said. When he let go, they both stood there awkwardly. Breaking the tension, Jensen blurted, “Let me walk you out,” like this had been a first date.

Jared gave him a blank stare at the inane comment, but a smile cracked his empty face. “If you’d like,” he acquiesced.

Jensen hastily grabbed his key card and ushered Jared out. They walked slowly down the hall, which was thankfully deserted. Staring at the rather ugly pattern in the rug, Jensen remarked, “Kinda like that scene in _The Shining_ when those creepy twins are standing at the end of the hall.”

Jared checked ahead and chuckled nervously. “And don’t forget about that elevator with all the blood gushing out,” he shivered before he recognized what he had said. With a stricken expression, he started to trip all over his words to apologize to Jensen.

Patting him on his forearm, Jensen assured him it was all right. “I really shouldn’t have been creeping myself out anyway,” he said when they neared the elevator, “since I’ll probably be back here next month.” He said it lightly, casually, like how important things are often announced. He cut his eyes to the side to judge Jared’s reaction. The other man did not disappoint.

“Really? You’ll be back?” he turned, hand out uncertainly to press the elevator call button.

“Yeah,” Jensen continued, tucking his hands in his pants pockets. “I’m going to have to relocate out here for work and it sure would be helpful if someone was able to show me around. You know, provide me with an insider’s view of what’s what.”

Jared fisted his hand and pulled it away from the button abruptly. When Jensen gave him a curious look, he explained, “I’m not really a fan of elevators, either,” he confessed with a harsh rasp.

“No?” Jensen wondered solicitously.

“No,” Jared repeated. “I think I’m going to take the stairs.”

“Want some company?” And there was no denying the hopeful tone in his question.

Ducking down so that his hair was a tattered curtain before him, Jared’s eyes peeked out, gleaming blue and green and gold, and he offered Jensen a fragile smile. They moved together to the doorway at the other end of the hall. Jensen pushed the door open, holding it for Jared.

“Is why you don’t like elevators tied to that sad story?” Jensen prodded gently.

Jared stopped at the top of the stairs, one hand on the railing. His knuckles whitened with the tightness of the hold he had on it. “It’s a…long story,” he grudgingly acknowledged. Jensen stepped up beside him and tentatively pressed his hand to the small of Jared’s back.

“We’ve got some time now,” he nodded his head toward the stairs laid out beneath them.

“Yeah?” Jared replied, although Jensen wasn’t completely sure if it was a question or declaration.

“And I’m not going anywhere,” Jensen added with a crooked grin, "except down. C’mon,” he said, holding out his hand. “We’ve got time for it now.”

Jared clasped it firmly and they took the first step together.

 

The Beginning

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr. [This post](http://phoenix1966sbottom.tumblr.com/post/149912060889/about-this-blogsticky-post) lets you know what my blog is about.


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